Holiday A Section Story
by leighsm
Summary: Michael and Nikita meet in an alternate universe. He's the wealthy owner of several art galleries in Europe. She's the heiress to a multimillion dollar Advertising Firm called, Section One. Updated 92105
1. Default Chapter

Chapter 1

The silver Jaguar pulled smoothly into the parking stall marked "Reserved" in the underground parking of one of the world's most prestigious and successful advertising agencies--Section One. A few moments later a tall, slender woman dressed in a thick white sweater, faded jeans, and dark brown boots emerged from within. Long blonde hair was swept back and fastened with a plain clasp. Her eyes were hidden behind a pair of dark shades.

It was only mid October but already winter was setting in. The woman shivered as she reached back into the car for her coat and slipped it on. She fumbled around, searching deep into the pockets. A moment later she withdrew her cell phone and flipped it open as she grabbed her attachi with her other hand. She frowned as she looked at her watch. The morning flight from Chicago to New York had been delayed by half an hour and as a result she was running late for her first appointment.

Time to check in with Rose.

Hitting the speed dial, she connected with her assistant's com unit and heard the familiar, firm, voice on the other end.

"Nikita, where are you?" Without waiting for a reply, the older woman began to bring her employer up to speed on the day's events. "You have exactly six minutes before your first appointment. Reminder, at 11:00 you have a videoconference with Section 3. They've already sent over their quarterly reports. I skimmed through it and everything seems to be in order. I've gone ahead and forwarded a copy to your father and down to accounting. You've got a luncheon with Revlon..." she paused, clicking her tongue absently as she reviewed her list. "... Peterson's on vacation so it should be his assistant, what's his name?"

"Briard. Joseph Briard."

"...uh huh." Rose continued. "Well you've got lunch with him. Peter called to remind you that the color schemes for the VF spread needs to be finalized. Stephen called--wants to know if you're free for dinner. And your father has left three messages for you already this morning."

"Great." Nikita frowned. She had a feeling she knew what he wanted. And it had nothing to do with business. Nikita angrily punched in her code for the executive elevators then waited impatiently for the doors to open. Stephen was going to get an earful if it turned out he'd recruited her father to try and change her mind about going away to the Bahamas next weekend. She'd already told him no - _twice_. But in typical Stephen fashion, he'd practically ignored her answer and proceeded to act as if he alone knew what was best for her. The trip wasn't the only thing bothering her too. It was this whole relationship thing. Lately Stephen had become a lot more possessive and demanding of her time.

"You're the boss's daughter," he had complained the week before. "There's no need for you to work the same hours as others in the company."

Nikita shuddered inwardly at the memory of Stephen's comment. Perhaps he didn't realize it but she felt as if he were indirectly implying that the only reason she was an executive at Section was because of her last name.

"Nikita? Are you still there?"

"Yes, Rose."

"What should I do about your first appointment? At the pace you're going you'll never make it on time. Are you dressed already?"

Nikita glanced down at her jeans and sweater. "No."

"Didn't think so." Rose sighed on her end. "I laid your gray suit out. Still don't think you'll make it. Shall I ask him to wait? Or maybe have Dave see him?"

"Who am I meeting again?" Nikita asked. "The art guy, right?"

"Michael Samuelle. Owns a string of art galleries throughout Europe and is expanding to the states." There was another pause and then Rose asked: "So shall I shift him over to Dave?"

"No." The elevator car arrived. Nikita entered and pressed the button marked Suite 3. "We need his contacts in Europe and he might be offended if we push him off to one of the juniors. How's my mother's schedule this morning? Is she free?"

"I --- think so."

"Find out. Let her know what's going on. Ask if she can see - what's his name? Michael--"

"Samuelle..."

"Right. Tell her I'll be there as soon as I can."

"O-kay," Rose answered. "Buzz if you need me." And with a click she went off line.

Michael Samuelle picked up a magazine on the table before him and casually glanced through it. It was 9:07. His appointment had been for 9a.m. A mild seedling of irritation began to take root inside of him. He hated when people weren't punctual. It showed a lack of organization. Discipline. Professionalism.

He replaced the magazine on the table and looked up at the clock above the receptionist's desk. He contemplated asking her if there was a problem that was causing the delay when the same woman who had asked him to take a seat ten minutes ago, reappeared before him.

"Mr. Samuelle? Thank you for waiting. If you'll follow me, sir, I'll show you to Mrs. Wolfe's office. This way please."

Michael's brow arched in a question. "Mrs. Wolfe?" Somewhere in the space of the past few days he had gotten the idea that the woman he was supposed to meet this morning was unmarried. Not that it mattered one way or another.

The secretary paused and looked over her shoulder at him. Her face bore an expression of polite patience. "Yes. Mrs. Madeline Wolfe is Vice President of Operations. You were scheduled to meet with her daughter but she's had a bit of delay. She'll be joining you shortly though."

Michael mentally ticked off another black mark against Section as he followed the woman down the wide hall to the opposite corner. Personally he didn't like these family type of businesses. Too often the children inherited their positions within in the echelons of the company by merit of their genes rather then any true understanding of the family business. He suspected this Ms. Wolfe was a prime example of that. Late to work and therefore pushing her responsibilities off to the parent. He had half a mind to cancel his appointment and go with another ad agency. But Section came highly recommended to him by several of his contacts here in New York. Never one to act on advice alone, Michael had done his own research and, previous to this morning's appointment, had been very impressed with what he had found.

Paul Wolfe had started his company back in the early 70's with little more then five thousand dollars, hard work, and a lot of guts. He and his wife started by writing jingles for commercials and slowly worked their way up. Now, twenty-six years later, Paul Wolfe's advertising agency extended from New York to California and several locations overseas.

Michael glanced at the double oak doors to his right and read the gold name plate: Nikita S. Wolfe.

_Ahh...the tardy daughter._'

He wondered briefly at the cause of her delay, then dismissed the thoughts completely from his mind. It didn't really matter why she was late, only that she was. And it didn't make for a good first impression.

Nikita shut the door to the private room adjacent to her office. She'd changed clothes and brushed her hair up into a tidy French twist. She did a final check to make sure that, in her haste, she hadn't buttoned her buttons wrong, then picked up the file on her desk, headed out her office and came face to face with Rose.

"Samuelle's in with your mother," Rose said. She eyed Nikita's appearance with a critical eye.

"I look alright?"

"It'll do," Rose said. The corners of her mouth twitched. "Although after seeing your morning appointment I've a feeling I should have chosen the white silk instead."

Nikita arched her brows, a smile forming on her lips. "That good, huh? It's lucky for him I don't date clients."

"Lucky for Stephen too," Rose replied dryly, before turning away.


	2. chapter 2

Chapter 2  
  
Nikita rapped twice then opened the door, poked her head in and smiled. She headed directly for the tall man seated across from her mother and extended her hand. "Mr. Samuelle? Sorry to keep you waiting. I'm Nikita."  
  
Michael rose, his green eyes expressionless as he took Nikita's proffered hand and bowed politely over it. Rose was right, Nikita thought. Michael Samuelle was indeed a very handsome man. A quick scan of his face and she decided that he had the look that could definitely sell magazines. If he signed up with them she might even suggest he be featured on some of the ads for his galleries. And then Nikita noticed him oh so subtly glance at his watch. The underlying implication of his action was very obvious to her - Michael Samuelle was not pleased. She withdrew her hand, her spine stiffening slightly as she became all business. "I've looked over your file," she said, motioning for Michael to take his seat once more. "With your permission I'd like to share with you some ideas and see if they meet your approval."  
  
Thirty minutes later Nikita bid Michael Samuelle farewell with a smile that was a just a tad bit forced. Afterwards she turned, rolled her eyes, and muttered something beneath her breath. Madeline arched her brows at her. "You should have taken the company jet," she said, calmly.  
  
"Mother, please." Nikita raised her hand and pressed her fingers to her temple. "It wasn't as if I planned on being late." She made her way back over to the desk and sat down in the chair Michael recently vacated. "I don't think I like him much."  
  
"You don't have to like the clients," Madeline said, a small smile forming on her lips. "You just have to meet their needs."  
  
"What Mr. Michael Samuelle needs is to learn to relax more." Her lips curved suddenly. "Rose thinks he's handsome. So do I. Good strong features. Great eyes. I bet if he smiled he'd be almost charming."  
  
"I thought he was very charming."  
  
"Toward you - yes - but he practically ignored me."  
  
"Nikita," Madeline's eyes widened slightly. "Has Mr. Samuelle gotten under your skin?"  
  
Nikita wrinkled her nose, then sighed. "I think I'm just tired."  
  
"That doesn't sound like you." Madeline stood and came round to stand in front of Nikita. She reached out a hand and tilted her daughter's face up. "What is it, darling?"  
  
"Nothing."  
  
"Nikita -"  
  
"Mother, it's nothing. Really."  
  
Madeline studied her daughter's face for a moment longer before releasing her chin. "This has to do with Stephen, doesn't it?"  
  
The corner of Nikita's mouth quirked into a half-hearted smile. "How do you do that - read my mind like that?"  
  
"Simple. I'm your mother."  
  
Nikita sighed again then rose to her feet. She picked up her folder and then leaned in to give her mother a quick peck on the cheek. "Well --mother," she smiled then turned toward the door. "thanks, but, I'll handle Stephen on my own."  
  
"And Mr. Samuelle?"  
  
"What about him?"  
  
"Think you can sign him by the week's end?" Madeline asked.  
  
Nikita paused at the door and flashed a smile at her mother. "Just watch me."


	3. chapters 3 to 7

Chapter 3

Nikita was not the type of woman to back down from a challenge. She loved the fast pace of the advertising world; the constant pressure of time bearing down upon her before a deadline. Often she would go days with barely any sleep. It was for that reason that her father had had the office next to hers converted into a small private apartment, just big enough to hold a twin size bed, closet, and bathroom with a shower. At Nikita's insistence he also added on the sixth floor a gym, in-door pool, and lounge for the employees to rest when they were working all-nighters, which they did often.

Having been in Chicago for several days there were several projects that needed Nikita's immediate attention. She spent the afternoon sorting through her files, checking up on the progress of her major accounts, meeting with her team and, then, finally, worked her way to the new accounts. At the top of her pile was Michael Samuelle's file.

She sat for a few minutes with her arms folded, brows furrowed and stared at the profile she'd drawn up. Michael Samuelle's attitude toward her in their meeting earlier had riled her more then Nikita was willing to admit to her mother. He wasn't the first one she'd seen look at her with doubt in their eyes. In fact, it had happened enough times that Nikita more often then not expected such a reaction from prospective clients. But usually by the end of the first meeting she was able to convince the clients to some degree that she did know a thing or two about the ad business. She should - she practically grew up in the business.

As the eldest child and only daughter of Paul and Madeline Wolfe, Nikita stood to inherit millions. It was also understood in the business that she would be the one to take over the helm when her father stepped down. Birkoff, Paul and Madeline's other child and heir, had never taken an interest in the business as Nikita had. The two siblings were quite opposite in personality as they were in appearance. Nikita was strikingly beautiful and had inherited her father's love for detail. Paul had seen that early in her and began training her slowly when she was only thirteen. She started off part time, after school, as a gopher in the trafficking department delivering notices to the different departments who fell behind production schedules. She remained there for two years learning the ropes, becoming familiar with the multi-leveled preparations that went into preparing a single layout, and seeing first hand the type of pressure advertising executives lived with.

Paul watched her carefully over those years. And when Nikita's interest in the business showed no signs of diminishing, he moved her up to production as an assistant secretary. Here again Nikita learned invaluable lessons and continued to flourish. By the time she'd graduated from high school Nikita knew the function of every single department within Section as well as its respective leaders. She declined her father's suggestion she go on to college though, arguing that there was no university that could teach her the hands on experience she was gaining from working in the company. That, however, was a decision Nikita came to regret in the years following.

She still believed her training at Section was invaluable, but time, wisdom, and experience taught her that having a university degree attached to her credentials would probably have worked more to her advantage in convincing clients - like Samuelle - that she had the knowledge as well as the experience to backup her current position as an ad executive.

Unlike his older sister, Birkoff disliked the hectic pace of Section life. He preferred instead to spend his time at home behind his computer. Nothing Paul did seemed to raise Birkoff's interest in the family business. And at nineteen, when Birkoff announced he wanted to go into business with a few of his close friends to form a computer software company, Paul had reluctantly given his blessing.

Nikita sometimes wondered if maybe she should take the same path her younger brother had; venture out on her own and form her own company where she could earn merit based on her own success. Maybe then she wouldn't have to keep proving herself over and over to their clients.

The intercom buzzed and Nikita reached over and pressed the button impatiently, her eyes still glued to the computer screen and the profile she was working on for Michael Samuelle. "What is it, Rose?"

"Stephen's on line two. Said you weren't answering your private line or cell."

Nikita shut her eyes and sighed inwardly. She'd hoped to avoid having to speak with Stephen till later. He was always such a distraction, wanting to pull her away from her work.

"I could tell him you're in a meeting..." Rose offered.

"No," Nikita said. "He'll just keep calling. I'll take his call. Thanks." She reached over to the phone and pushed the blinking light. Her greeting, she knew, was abrupt and not at all friendly.

"Nikita? I've been trying to get a hold of you all day. Didn't Rose give you my messages?"

"Yes, I got them. But it's been a busy day, Stephen, and I've still got lots of work to do. Was there something you needed?"

There was a pause and Nikita could picture Stephen pressing his lips together in disapproval at her tone. "I was hoping we could spend some time together tonight, Nicky." She cringed at his alteration of her name. How many times had she told him she didn't like being called Nicky? It was a little girl's name and not befitting the image that Nikita wanted to present as the savvy twenty-five year old executive.

"I'm sorry but I can't," Nikita lied. "I've already made other plans for tonight."

"I see." His voice was strained. Nikita was certain he was probably just as irritated with her stubbornness as she was with his persistence. "A business dinner?" he asked.

"Yes." 

Stephen paused, then asked, "Well how about afterwards? I can come over to your place and we ---"

Nikita cut him off before he could finish. "No, Stephen, really I just can't make it tonight. Things have really piled up here over the past few days and I need time to get caught up."

"Is that the real reason, Nicky, or are you just avoiding me?"

"Believe what you want," Nikita said. She balanced the phone between her ear and shoulder and began working again on the profile, only half listening to what Stephen was saying. After another minute or so she ended the conversation, tentatively agreeing to have lunch with him the following day if her schedule permitted, and then hung up.

She stared at the phone for a while, still frowning, then picked it up and pressed the line connecting her to her assistant. "Rose," she said, leaning back in her chair, "find Michael Samuelle's phone number and patch him through to me."

After leaving Section, Michael caught a cab down to the Soho district. That was where his newest gallery would be located. Mid-morning traffic was horrible but not as bad as it would be in the evenings when everyone would be getting off work. He hated big city life. And he especially hated New York City. But after much consultation and private consideration Michael had decided that this was where he would have to launch his first gallery in the US if he wanted it to succeed.

It wasn't that he didn't like New Yorkers or Americans in general so much as the fact that he didn't like being away from Europe. The food here was strange, the pace of life frantic, and there was no one he really knew here besides Rene. Thankfully his work would be done in a few days time and he could return to home to France. But first he had to make a decision about the promotional campaign for the opening.

Michael sighed and turned to stare out the window. He'd been rude to Ms. Wolfe -- maybe more than he had intended - and undoubtedly left an unfavorable image of himself in her mind. Surprisingly though she had not reacted to his ill behavior as he had expected she would. No womanly wiles or charms to try and win over his favor; just straight business. Michael liked that. It showed she had confidence in her abilities as a spokesperson rather than having to rely on her beauty. And Ms. Wolfe, Michael admitted privately, was beautiful. Not that that mattered. He personally preferred petite brunettes…

Michael frowned and reined his thoughts back in. He reached into his coat pocket and withdrew his cell phone and, after checking through his directory, punched in a code. The phone rang four times and a recording came on. It was a male voice speaking in French. Michael waited for the beep and then left a brief message and hung up.

Michael spent the late morning meeting with the contractors and architect that were doing the renovation work on the building he'd bought. In the afternoon he began to go over his inventory of art pieces he'd ordered. Half an hour later there was a knock on his door and a thin faced, blond haired man stuck his head round the corner. "Hello?" he called out in French. "Anyone, here?"

"Rene!" Michael rose, his arms outstretched and a smile on his face. The two men embraced heartily and Michael pulled out a chair for his visitor to sit down upon. "I've been calling since I arrived but all I got was your recording."

"Ah, yes," Rene laughed, his blue eyes crinkling at the corner. "I went away with friends up to Canada. If I'd known you were coming I would not have gone. Why didn't you call me earlier?" Rene asked.

"I'm sorry. I should have but," Michael shrugged his shoulders and smiled apologetically and let his voice trail off. Rene was his oldest and dearest friend. They'd known each other since they were young boys attending the same private school. Through the years they had become like brothers.

"Yes I do know. That is so like you, Michel," Rene scolded, shaking his head. "Always work, work, work. When will you learn to relax? Live a little. Monique is married now and has her own family. She is happy - no?"

Michael smiled and nodded once. "Yes. She and Phillipe send their love. She said that you had better come home for little Michel's first year birthday next month since you missed his christening."

"I know. I feel so bad," Rene said, making a remorseful face. "But I promise I shall be there. Tell her that for me. If I don't make it then I give her full permission to take her frustration out on you and Phillipe!" Rene smiled broadly and took a deep breath as he looked over Michael, shaking his head slightly. "How are you?" he asked. "Are you well? Happy?"

"Yes," Michael answered. "My work keeps me busy - and happy."

"Ah, Michel," Rene tilted his head to one side and clucked his tongue disapprovingly. "And will all that success keep you company when you are old and gray and not so pretty any more?"

Michael's lips curved into a rare, wide, smile. "I guess we will have to wait and see."

Nikita sighed in frustration as she hung up the phone. There was no answer at Michael Samuelle's hotel room. She stood, stretched, then turned and paced slowly in front of the windows behind her desk. Outside the sky was beginning to darken. Forty floors below people were beginning to fill the sidewalks heading home. Taxis weaved in and out of lanes. Cops, whistles blowing and arms waving, kept the traffic inching along.

Nikita paused, folded her arms and leaned her forehead against the plate glass as she gazed down upon the scene. Her breathing eased, shoulders relaxed. She loved living in the city. Her parents owned a home twenty minutes out of Manhattan. It was quiet there; big homes with sprawling lawns and long curving driveways. It was a great place for her parents to live but for Nikita it was too still. She needed the noise and endless pulse of the city. It made her feel alive.

Smiling, she stepped back and returned to her desk. Back to work. She settled in to her chair and refocused on the profile before her.

The biggest problem she faced with the Samuelle account would be convincing him that Section One was the best agency to handle the opening of his gallery here in the US. Nikita already had a plan in mind on how she would accomplish this but she needed to move fast. Samuelle would be in town until the end of the week. That gave her three days maximum to sign him. Nikita picked up the phone again. This time she speed-dialed Birkoff as she scribbled down notes on a notepad.

"At your service."

Nikita smirked. Birkoff was such a kidder. "Are you really at my service?" she asked.

"No, not really," Birkoff replied. In the background Nikita could hear what sounded suspiciously like a computer game. This was confirmed when Birkoff gave a whoop and started laughing.

"Jesus, Birkoff, don't you guys ever do any work around there? Every time I call you guys are playing games."

"Feeling jealous?"

"Extremely."

Birkoff laughed and gave his full attention over to his sister. "When did you get back?"

"This morning,"

Birkoff detected a slight change in his sister's voice. "Everything go okay?"

"Yeah. Fairly well. I'll tell you about it tomorrow. Are we still on for lunch?"

"I'm clear. You might want to have Gail give me a call. You know. Just to remind me in case I forget."

"Ha!" Nikita snorted. "You're such a fraud, Birky. All talk and then when I send Gail, what do you do? Nothing. That's what. Hrmph." She couldn't see Birkoff' s expression but she would bet a month's salary that he was probably blushing. The image of him doing so made her laugh.

"Did you call just to insult me or did you need something?" Birkoff retorted.

"Sorry," Nikita laughed. She really did need to stop teasing him but she couldn't help it. It was so easy to make him flush with embarrassment and she thought he looked quite adorable when he did so.

"Sure you are," Birkoff stated, still sounding irritated. "You'd better state your business or I'm going to hang up on you." He wouldn't really hang up on Nikita. This was an old game between them that existed from the time they were toddlers. Nikita would tease and provoke him till he became angry. She'd laugh then apologize and he would forgive her. He had to. She was his sister and he loved her. But sometimes she still got on his nerves.

"Okay." Nikita got her laughter under control and took a deep breath. "Actually I need a favor, Birkoff. A phone number."

"What!" Birkoff held the phone away from his ear and scowled at it. "Nikita, haven't you ever heard of 411? Information? Geez."

"Oh come on, Birky. You know if it was that easy I wouldn't be bothering you. This is a client's number. He's from Paris so I imagine he's probably listed in the French directory. I'm sure he's got a cell but I don't know what that number is. Can you find it for me?" Birkoff continued to grumble as he began typing.

"Name?"

"Michael Samuelle."

"You know, I can teach you to do this for yourself on your computer," he complained. "It's so simple."

"Yeah, I know," Nikita sighed. "But you're so good at it. Much faster than any directory I know. And besides if I learned to do all that stuff then I'd have no excuse to call you up."

"Except to tease me."

"That's true."

"Samuelle..." there was a slight pause then, "geez, there's over a hundred in here. Can you narrow the field?"

"Huh? - Oh," Nikita thought for a moment, scanning the information she had on the Samuelle account. She read off the addresses of his galleries in the Paris area. Midway through the third one Birkoff stopped her.

"Got it." He read off a number and Nikita jotted it down. "You want his home phone too?"

"No. This is fine. He's here in town and I need to contact him before he leaves. Thanks brother. See you tomorrow!"

Michael was at a cafe a block away from the worksite of his gallery, having a late lunch with Rene when his phone rang. "This must be Monique," he told Rene. "She said she would call." He smiled as he pulled out the phone and answered it. A second later his smile disappeared and was replaced by a frown. "Ms. Wolfe? Ah - yes. Of course. I remember." Michael turned away from the inquiring look Rene was giving him.

"I hope I'm not catching you at an inconvenient time."

"No." Michael took a deep breath. "It's fine. How can I help you?"

At her end Nikita steeled herself, ignoring the little voice inside her head that said she should have just handed this case over to Dave or Jamison to handle. "I don't think we got off to a good start this morning," Nikita said, her voice serious. "I'd like to apologize for that and ask if we could start over again." She smiled to soften the words, make them sound more convincing because, deep down, Nikita wasn't convinced she had anything to apologize for. But Samuelle was the client and like Madeline had said, the client was always right. No matter how insufferably rude they were.

"What did you have in mind?" Michael asked. He waited to see what path Ms. Wolfe was planning to take. He was guessing she was going to ask him to dinner. Spend a couple of hundred dollars of the company money on impressing him.

"I'd like to take you on a tour of our production room," Nikita said. "You name the time and I'll clear my schedule for it."

Michael's brow arched slightly. Well that was certainly unexpected. "The production room?"

"It's where a lot of the work goes on here in Section," Nikita explained. "I'd like to introduce you to some of the people whom you would be working directly with if you allow us to handle your campaign for you. You'll be able to see the planning stages we go through, offer any ideas you might have and view some of the finished products we've done for other galleries."

There was a long pause and Nikita held her breath. When Samuelle spoke his voice sounded different. Less cold.

"Do you always take clients on a tour of your production room?" he asked.

"Not always," Nikita answered, still uncertain if her approach would work. "Very rarely actually. The production room isn't really -" she searched for the words to describe what she wanted to say "...it's not really the image we want clients to have of us when they think of Section. But it's where the heart of our work lies. And I think you'd enjoy seeing what goes on there."

Michael didn't know how she came to that conclusion but as he thought about it, he realized she was right. He would be interested in seeing how they put a campaign together. But there was one problem. "I'm afraid my schedule is all filled up for the rest of this week," he explained. "I wanted to get as much done as possible so that I could return home early. But if there is a cancellation ---"

"What about tonight?" Nikita asked, glancing at her watch. "Do you have an engagement for tonight?"

"Tonight? Are you asking me to dinner?"

"Oh." Nikita frowned. Dinner. That's right - food. The man did have to eat. "Well, yes, I suppose we could do that too." And then, to her amazement, Michael Samuelle laughed. Not a loud laugh. But it was enough. And - somehow -- Nikita knew that she had just scored a point with him.

Rene sat back in his chair as Michael concluded his call and hung up. "Business?" he asked. Michael nodded as he slipped the phone back into his coat pocket. He wondered briefly how Ms. Wolfe had gotten his phone number.

"I'm hiring an advertising agency to handle the promotion of the new gallery," he explained. "I'm thinking of going with Section. Have you heard of them?"

"Section One?" Rene nodded. "Yes. I hear they're very expensive. But you can afford that now, hmm?"

"It's not the money," Michael said, leaning back. "But I need to know that the agency I hire is the best one for the job."

Rene shrugged. "And you think Section is the best one to do that?"

"Perhaps." Michael sipped at his coffee, his expression thoughtful. "I'm meeting with the owner's daughter tonight. That was her on the phone."

"She's taking you to dinner? Is she beautiful?"

"What does it matter if she's beautiful or not."

Rene smiled. And then he began to laugh. "Ah - she is beautiful, no?"

Michael didn't bother to answer him.

It was nearly five o'clock when Paul finally caught up with his daughter. He walked into her office unannounced and leaned over her desk. "I'm beginning to think I need an appointment to see you," he said. Nikita leaned back and fixed him with a blank stare.

"That's not a bad idea."

Paul raised his brow at her and then sat down on the chair across from her. He crossed his legs and pulled out his cigarette case. Nikita stood and made her way over to where he was. She plucked the case and the cigarette he was about to light, away from his grasp. Paul swore and glared at her but Nikita merely smiled and leaned down to kiss his cheek. "Doctor's orders."

"Dr. Robinson never said anything about my not being able to smoke - that's your mother's rule."

"Which is all the reason more that you shouldn't," Nikita said. She dropped down into the seat next to her father, laced her fingers through his and smiled. "Are you feeling alright?"

"I'd feel better if I had a cigarette."

Nikita raised his hand up to her lips and brushed her lips over his fingers. "Don't be so difficult, daddy. You know we only do this because we love you and want you around for a long time."

"Sure you do," Paul snorted. His lips curved into a reluctant smile. "You and your mother only want me around so that you can continue to torture me. Torture twins you are. Only Birkoff understands my agony."

"That's because Birkoff's the only one who listens to your threats."

"Him and Stephen." Paul watched as Nikita scowled and freed her hand from his. "What's going on between you two? It's been two years. Don't you think it's time you two got married."

"Oh here we go again," Nikita muttered, standing. She walked back to the other side of the desk, perched on the windowsill, and stared stonily out at the darkening sky. "I hate when he gets you involved in this, daddy. Does he think that if he wins your approval I'll automatically lay down my life for him? Well it won't work."

"No one's asking you to lay your life down," Paul said, dryly. "Just be a little more civil toward him. Or let him go." Nikita spun round and gave him a shocked look.

"Let him go? Ha!" She rolled her eyes and folded her arms tightly. "Believe me I've told Stephen a long time ago that he was free to go. No one's holding him in this relationship. In fact, there is no relationship. We're just friends. And soon we won't even be that if he keeps pushing."

Paul looked at his daughter and shook his head. When had she become so cold? Nikita claimed it was Stephen; that he was smothering her with attention. But Paul knew better. It wasn't Stephen - it was Nikita. She didn't want to commit to any relationship.

Paul felt a slight twinge of guilt as he watched her. Perhaps he was partly at fault for Nikita's aversion towards romantic involvement. Over the years he had carefully nurtured his daughter's interest in the business with the hope that she, along with Birkoff, would take it over one day. His efforts toward this end increased when Birkoff had left to start his own company. But now, Paul realized, Nikita's life had become so focused on the business, everything else, love included, was secondary to her. That wasn't right. He was pleased that she had taken such a keen interest in the business but he also wanted her to know the joys that came from sharing her life with someone. Paul sighed and decided not to push the issue any further with Nikita. He stood, walked over to where she sat, and pulled her up to her feet. "Come here," he said, and pulled her into his embrace. "I'm sorry. I promise not to meddle."

"That's what you always say," Nikita grumbled. She slipped her arms around his waist and laid her head upon his shoulder.

"Yes but this time I mean it," Paul vowed.

Nikita smiled and relaxed in her father's arms. "Liar." They embraced for a few seconds longer and then Paul pulled back.

"I read the report you sent from Chicago. Are you certain about your findings?" he asked. He made his way over to the side panel, opened it and poured himself a drink. Nikita shook her head disapprovingly but held her tongue. She sat down and searched for a file on her computer. 

"I'm almost a hundred percent sure," Nikita answered. "But as to whether I can prove it is a whole other story. Too many people have access to those files. The way the system's set up right now there's no way for us to track who accessed what and when."

"Your suggestion?"

Nikita took a deep breath. "I'd like to go outside with this. Use Birkoff."

Paul nodded slowly. "He knows about what happened?"

"I spoke to him before I left and I'm meeting with him tomorrow for lunch. I'm thinking that he can redesign the whole security system. Rig it so that the files can be accessed only by level 5 clearance and higher utilizing personal codes that leave a tracker -"

Nikita was interrupted by a knock on the door. A second later Rose entered. "Sorry to interrupt. Nikita, Mr. Samuelle's here to see you."

"Show him in, Rose." Nikita picked up suit jacket and slipped it on. 

"Samuelle?" Paul asked, with raised eyebrows.

"Michael Samuelle," Nikita reminded him. She smiled and walked toward the door as Michael entered. "Mr. Samuelle," she greeted him. "Thank you for coming. I'd like for you to meet my father, Paul Wolfe."

Michael shook Nikita's hand briefly then turned toward the gray haired man next to her. "A pleasure."

"Samuelle?" Paul said, still trying to place the name. He tilted his head slightly. "As in the art galleries?"

"Yes."

"Well!" Paul beamed. "I visited your gallery in Nice. Bought an exquisite vase. I have it in my office at home."

"You're a collector?" Michael asked.

"Well -" Paul gave a short laugh and Nikita stepped in.

"My father has a very interesting assortment of art pieces he's bought over the years. Everything from a Monet to an interesting piece he picked up at an open air market."

"Have you ever been to the one's they have in southern France? You can find some very interesting and valuable art pieces there," Michael commented.

"Really?" Paul turned to Nikita and smiled, as if to say - I like this guy. Nikita returned his smile, shaking her head.

"I've invited Mr. Samuelle to meet our team and to tour the production room. Show him what we can do for him."

"That's my girl," Paul approved, then turned and extended his hand again to Michael. "I'd like it very much if you'd join my wife and I for dinner tomorrow night. We're having a few acquaintances over, some that you might want to meet to add to your contacts. Then I can show you that vase I bought."

Nikita managed to keep her surprise in check. She didn't know her parents had a dinner party the next night. Had she missed that appointment? She'd have to check with Rose. Her father rarely entertained clients anymore unless they were really, really, rich. Michael Samuelle was wealthy, yes, but Nikita knew he was nowhere near as wealthy as the heads of corporations her father usually invited to dinner, and yet here he was inviting Mr. Samuelle to dinner. Well, she thought silently, to each his own.

Michael's lips parted, ready to decline the invitation, when his gaze suddenly switched over to Nikita. He could see in her eyes that she was already anticipating his turning down of her father's invitation. She stood calmly, waiting with her hands clasped loosely in front. He clasped his hands in imitation as he turned back to her father. He found himself feeling a little daring, and wanting more than a little to shake up the self-assured look on Paul Wolfe's daughter's face.

"I'd love to come." He turned in time to see Nikita's brow quirk upward in surprise, and Michael felt a smug sense of satisfaction as he asked her "You'll be joining us, won't you?"

Chapter 7

"Unfortunately I have a previous engagement planned otherwise I'd surely attend," Nikita said sweetly, and she hoped that her father wouldn't contradict her. If she was scheduled to be at this dinner –which she hoped she wasn't- then she'd make up some excuse to not attend.

"Nonsense," Paul said, and Nikita tried to send him a silent plea to stop.

"Michael's right," Paul continued, before turning to face their visitor. "May I call you, Michael?"

"--Of course."

"Thank you--, as I was saying, Nikita, Michael's right. You should join us too. Come out. Relax a little."

Nikita's lips parted, her eyes narrowing at her father. And then she smiled tightly and answered, "I'll check with my schedule." She turned then to Michael, gave him that bit-too-bright smile that reminded him of their meeting earlier that morning, and pointed the way towards the elevator. "Shall we?"

Michael bid Paul farewell and fell into step beside Nikita. They walked side by side in silence, not speaking until the elevator doors closed behind them. "I'm afraid I need to apologize," Michael said, staring straight ahead, and Nikita looked at him with a look of surprise.

"What for?"

"I think we did get off to a bad start this morning. I -" Michael turned to look at her, "made some assumptions that I shouldn't have."

"Such as?"

Michael didn't look away. "Spoiled rich daughter, not very responsible,..."

"… doesn't have a clue as to what's going on..." Nikita supplied, and she raised her brows.

"Yes," Michael nodded, his expression very serious. "That too."

"I see." Nikita folded her arms. She thought it amusing that he would make such a confession. Rather than offending her though, his confession put her at ease with him, especially since she could see the beginnings of a smile lurking in his eyes. "And now?" she asked, smiling back.

"I'm willing to admit I was wrong if you'll forgive my rudeness," he said, and Nikita gave a small laugh.

"It's a deal."

The elevator arrived and the doors opened and Michael looked down a long corridor. The left wall was made of glass, revealing one large opened spaced office with several desks separated by partitions. Some of the workspaces were cleared for the night; the computers turned off, files put away, chairs empty. Others were still occupied.

"This is one of three floors that make up our Creative department," Nikita explained, walking alongside Michael. She led him into the middle of the office area and pointed out the key-people and their functions. "It's here that we come up with the concept of the advertising campaign," Nikita explained. "My job is to represent you, the client, and your needs in this creative stage. Quinn" --Nikita pointed to a dark haired woman talking with two others at the far side of the office-- "is our creative director. I'll introduce you in a little bit. But it's here that all the brainstorming takes place to come up with an ad that will ultimately be approved by you."

Nikita and Michael eventually made their way down one floor to the art department. Michael enjoyed watching the artists work on detailed sketches for a commercial. Nikita introduced him to the print manager in the production room who showed Michael a nearly completed magazine layout for a well-known cosmetics company. Nikita saved the traffic department for last.

"This is my favorite department," she explained fondly. "It's where I started my training here at Section when I was fourteen. These guys make sure that everyone, all the different departments -- creative, art, production, etc., -- are meeting their deadlines. And even though they're office is down here they actually fall under management, reporting directly to us when someone fails to meet a specified deadline."

Michael was fascinated with all that he was shown. He spoke with several members of the production team; asked questions on certain in-progress projects and listened with interest to a brainstorming session that was going on with one of the creative teams. Nikita was pleased to see his interest. Several times during the tour they stopped, sitting down at an empty desk, and discussed ideas that Michael had about what he wanted done with the gallery's campaign. All too soon the tour ended and Nikita announced that it was nearly seven o'clock.

"What time does everyone go home?" Michael asked.

"Well it depends," Nikita said. "Usually it's when the work that needs to be done is finished. Over here it's a team effort; everyone has to do their part in order for the ad to progress. Sometimes that means staying long hours."

"And what are your hours like?" Michael asked, out of curiosity.

Nikita shrugged. "Pretty much the same. It's a high pressure job -- but I like it." She smiled and folded her arms. "So. Ready for dinner?"

"What did you have in mind?" Michael asked.

"The cafeteria's still open. We could grab a salad or maybe a sandwich."

The corner of Michael's mouth quirked up. Amusement showed in his eyes. "And here I thought you'd try to wine and dine me into signing."

"No," Nikita laughed, "I'll leave the wining and dining to my father. Tonight you can eat cold cuts."


	4. chapter 8

Chapter 8

It was almost nine o'clock when Nikita and Michael left the cafeteria. The serving line had closed an hour earlier. There were others -- all employees -- who, like them, had remained behind to discuss business. Nikita was pleased to find out that her first impression of Michael Samuelle was as incorrect as his had been of her. He was quiet spoken, intelligent and - as she had suspected - had a very charming smile.

"Would you consider being photographed for one of the layouts?" she asked. They were walking slowly along the corridor towards the main entrance.

"I'd prefer not to," Michael answered. He walked with his hands to his sides, eyes forward, expression lost in thought.

"That's too bad," Nikita said, seriously. "You've got a great profile, beautiful eyes. A lot of very wealthy women would swarm to the opening just for the chance to meet you."

She paused, her eyes puzzled at the look on Michael's face. "What?"

"Are you always so blunt?" he asked, in amusement.

"I like to think of it as being honest," Nikita answered, smiling. 

The lobby was empty except for two security guards stationed at the receptionist's desk. The older of the two greeted Nikita fondly. "Evening Ms. Nikita," he called, smiling. "Working late again?"

"Gotta pay the bills," Nikita answered, smiling back at him. "Charlie do me a favor please and have Bill bring the car round to take Mr. Samuelle to his hotel."

"That won't be necessary," Michael said. "I can take a cab. I'll be fine."

"It's no trouble," Nikita said, nodding to Charlie to go ahead with the call. "Besides," she added, grinning, and Michael couldn't help but smile back. "It's the least I can do after that dinner." They walked toward the front entrance and stopped several feet from the door. Nikita turned to face Michael, her hands clasped loosely in front. "Thank you for coming tonight. I'm glad we were able to work things out."

"I am too," Michael said, and he held out his hand to her. "If I don't get a chance to come in tomorrow afternoon --?"

"I'll have the contract ready by late morning," Nikita confirmed. "If I don't hear from you, then I'll have them delivered to the house. You can look over them, make sure everything is according to what you requested, and then you can sign and leave them there with my father."

Michael looked back over his shoulder, his eyes taking in the near empty building. "What time are you planning to go home?"

Nikita glanced at her watch and frowned. "I've still got some things to do."

"Do you always work this late?"

"Sometimes. But I like working the late hours. It's quiet and there are fewer interruptions. I can hear myself thinking."

Michael nodded. "I know what you mean. Sometimes I like to work late into night. It's peaceful."

"And your -- partner -- doesn't mind?"

"Partner?"

Nikita smiled. "Your wife, girlfriend... companion?"

Michael gave a small smile. "Bailey doesn't mind. He's used to it."

Nikita blinked once. Then twice. "Oh. Well... uhm, I'm glad you told me,' she said, after a minute. "Maybe we should target some of those male oriented magazines too then. In addition to the ones we've already identified for the campaign."

"Male oriented?" Michael asked, brows pulling together.

"You know... the --" Nikita cleared her throat, looking serious. "The gay magazines. There are some very exclusive ones out there."

She stopped as Michael's eyes widened with surprise, his brows lifting. And then for the first time since Nikita had met him earlier that day Nikita witnessed Michael Samuelle laugh -- _really_ laugh. "I'm sorry," she said, beginning to feel both foolish and awkward. "Did I say something wrong?"

Michael was still laughing. He didn't make much noise, but he held one hand over his stomach, trying to contain his mirth. "Nikita," he said, at last, seeing her discomfort. "I'm not gay."

"You're not?" Nikita looked almost relieved. "Then _Bailey_ ---"

Michael's eyes crinkled at the corners with laughter. "Bailey," he explained, "Is my dog."


	5. chapter 9

Chapter 9

"You did what?" Rose was standing in the middle of Nikita's office with her arms folded. A wide grin broke across her face.

"I'm afraid I did," Nikita said, sitting down. She gathered her files and placed them neatly within her attache before snapping it closed and glanced up. "How was I supposed to know the man was referring to his dog? I asked about his companion. Who in their right mind would refer to their pet as a companion?"

"You'd be surprised," Rose answered. "Pets make excellent companions. They're loyal and loving. They don't answer you back. And you can train them to do little tricks."

"Great," Nikita said. "Where can I sign up for one?"

Rose gave her a skeptical look. "With your work schedule? I suggest you find something along the lines of a virtual pet. That way you can just check in with him on-line."

"Do they have such a thing?" Nikita asked.

"If there isn't, then there should be. I'm sure it would be a big hit with you corporate types."

Nikita stood thinking, her fingers tapping lightly on her attaché. "That's not a bad idea, Rose. You should have it patented."

Rose rolled her eyes and went back to reading off the rest of Nikita's schedule for the day. "I have Redbook penciled in for two o'clock. But there's also the J&J's photo shoot you wanted to attend. That's at three o'clock. Should I reschedule Redbook for four-thirty?"

"No. Keep them at two." She looked around, pulled open the top drawer and retrieved her keys. "I can send someone else to the photo shoot. Oh, and, Rose please don't forget to keep an eye out for Michael Samuelle. He's supposed to come by to sign those papers. I already went over everything with him last night. But in case he doesn't make it, make sure the contract is delivered to my father. Mr. Samuelle's having dinner with them tonight. He can sign it there."

"And what about Stephen?" Rose asked. She watched as Nikita's expression dampened.

"I guess I should make some time to see him today," Nikita said, absently. She stared out at the gray sky. Then she sighed forlornly. "I don't love him, Rose."

"But he loves you."

"So he says."

"You don't believe him?"

Nikita stood silently. "I think he believes he loves me," she said, slowly. "But I wish he didn't. He deserves a woman who'll appreciate him; someone who can reciprocate those feelings. I can't do that. Not for him. Maybe for no one."

Rose felt saddened for her employer and friend. "One day you'll feel differently. When you lease expect it your Prince Charming will walk into your life and sweep you away. Just wait and see."

Nikita rolled her eyes. "You are such a romantic, Rose."

"And you are such a cynic when it comes to love. Do you want to stay alone all your life?"

"But I'm not alone, " Nikita replied, calling over her shoulder as she headed toward the door. "I've got my family, friends, and my work. I'm perfectly happy the way I am."

Michael woke up the next day feeling lighthearted. The contractors were set with the renovation work, his inventory was up to date, and he'd decided to sign with Section One to promote the gallery's opening. If everything else went smoothly, he'd be able to return to France a day early.

He stood at the window a while gazing out. In the distance he could see the Statue of Liberty. The water around it was dark and gray; a sharp contrast to the blue and gold colored ferries chugging across the harbor. For some reason, seeing that statue alone and proud in the middle of the harbor, reminded him of Nikita Wolfe. He stared at it for a few more minutes, lost in thought, and suddenly the cheerful mood he'd woken up in dissolved. He was left with a lump that sat heavily in the pit of his stomach. It must be the New York air, Michael decided. He turned, picked up his phone and dialed a number. A few seconds later Michael heard his sister's voice answer on the other side. He spoke to her in French.

"Monique, its Michel."

Over the next several minutes Michael listened to his sister's excited chatter. Little Michel was learning to crawl. In the background Michael could hear Philippe urging his son on. "He's getting so big," Monique proclaimed, her voice full of motherly pride. "You won't recognize him when you get back."

Michael seriously doubted the truth in that since it had only been a week since he had last seen his nephew. But Monique was right on another point; Michael did miss the little one. And he missed his sister too. Sometimes he forgot that she was all grown up now -- he'd taken care of her for so long, ever since their parent's death eight years earlier. Listening to her dote now on her son and hearing the laughter in her voice made Michael happy that she'd found love and happiness. But it also made him very aware of an emptiness in his own life.

"Michel?"

"Yes."

"Is something wrong? You sound kind of quiet."

Michael took a deep breath. "No," he said, after a while. "I just wanted to hear your voice."

Monique was silent. Michael could picture her smiling. "I miss you too, Michel," she said. "Come home soon."


	6. chapter 10

Chapter 10

Nikita resisted the temptation to roll her eyes as she placed her index finger on the scanner outside of Birkoff's office and waited patiently for clearance. If it wasn't one thing it was another. Each time she visited Birkoff had some new security measure up. A buzzer sounded shortly and then a computer generated voice stated, "_Please enter your security code._"

"What?" Nikita muttered, and started pounding on the door. "Birkoff! Open the door, it's me!" There was no answer so Nikita pounded louder. She looked up and down the hall, half expecting someone from the other suites to peer out at the commotion, but no one did. They were probably used to it, she thought. "Birkoff!"

The door swung open and a boy Nikita had never seen before stood and stared out at her. He looked tob e about eighteen and had dark brown hair and eyes. The t-shirt he wore proclaimed, Virginians do it Better'. Behind him the room opened up into a large area. There were several long tables lined up alongside each other. On top were computers with their various attachments. Trent - one of Birkoff's partners - looked up and waved at Nikita. "Hey, Nik! Come on in."

"Well," the boy standing in front of Nikita said. He eyed her from head to toe, his gaze lingering in certain places that it shouldn't have. "So you're Nikita"

"That's right," Nikita replied, arching her brow. "And you are?"

The boy held out his hand. "Greg Hillinger, at your service."

Nikita shook his hand. "Nice to meet you, Greg. Is Birkoff around?"

"Birkoff? Oh, you mean , _Seymour_."

"Give it a break, Hillinger." Jasmine, another of Birkoff's young computer genius's appeared. The last time Nikita had seen her Jasmine's hair had been down to the middle of her back. Now it was a short black bob that framed her small face. The cut made her dark eyes seem larger, more exotic. "Come on in, Nikita," she said, pushing Greg out of the way. "Sorry about the password. We're trying out something new but there are still a few bugs."

"There wouldn't be if you'd have listened to me," Greg interjected, as he followed the two ladies. Jasmine turned and glowered at him till he backed away. "Okay, relax! I can take a hint. I'm going!"

"He's a pain in the ass," Jasmine whispered, rolling her eyes. Nikita stifled a laugh as she followed Jasmine down the hall to Birkoff's office.

"I take it you don't like Mr. Hillinger much?"

"You've got that right. Thinks he knows everything there is to know about computers, and he thinks he's God's gift to women."

Birkoff was on the phone but he waved Nikita in. As he talked she took out a disc and placed it on the desk before him. Birkoff slipped it into the caddy on his computer and began to review the information while Nikita pulled up a chair beside him and waited patiently till Birkoff finished his conversation.

"Whoa!" Birkoff hung up the phone and leaned forward to look at his screen. "They're almost identical," he said, comparing the two ads side by side.

"Not almost, they are identical," Nikita replied. "The design was stolen. Shining Star, of course, is denying any knowledge of piracy."

"Of course."

"I was telling Daddy though that the real problem lies within our own company. Shining Star wouldn't have been able to get a hold of that design if someone hadn't stolen it first. So we need to tighten our security. And you know I wouldn't trust anyone but you to do this."

Birkoff grinned. "Give me till tomorrow afternoon to come up with something. You know this could mean revamping your whole system."

"We'll do whatever is necessary."

Michael contemplated the painting before him. He had one arm folded across his chest, the other holding his chin. Rene stood at his side and waited anxiously.

"Well?"

"It's different," Michael said, slowly. "A little harsh but not without a certain appeal to it."

Rene nodded, pleased by what he heard. "I told her you would like it but she would not believe me." He reached into his coat pocket and withdrew his phone. "I must call and let her know. She will be so excited. She's a big fan of yours, Michel. Ah, but wait till you meet her. Beautiful. Long legs, dark hair. Recently divorced. I'll invite her to lunch with us."

Michael started forward. "Now wait a minute, Rene. I did not agree to meet this woman. I only agreed to look at her paintings as a favor to you. I've done that now I must go."

"No!" Rene grabbed hold of his arm. "How can you see the painting and not see the creator?" he asked. "You _must_ meet her, Michel. Besides I already promised her that we would meet for lunch. You have to eat, yes? What do you say -- for me, your best friend, your brother! Please?"

Michael met Rene's pleading look with a blank stare. After a second he gave in and sighed. "Alright, but no lunch, just coffee. And it has to be somewhere nearby because I have other things I have to do this afternoon."

"Yes!" Rene grabbed Michael by the shoulders and hugged him briefly, then dialed Karen's number.

The sun was hidden behind clouds but it was still a very nice day out. Nikita and Birkoff decided to leave her car in the garage and walk the two blocks to a little Italian restaurant that Birkfoff liked. There were several tables outside on the sidewalk but they opted to go inside where it was less crowded.

On the other side of the same restaurant, Michael was sitting with Rene and Karen Rilebert, the artist whom Rene had wanted him to meet. She was wearing a purple silk blouse, short black skirt, and high heels. Every once in a while her foot brushed up against Michael's beneath the table. The first time it happened Michael ignored it, believing it was an accident. But when she did it a second time and then a third, Michael carefully inched away. She was an attractive woman but Michael wasn't interested in encouraging her flirtation. He made up his mind to wait a few more minutes to be polite and then he planned to make an excuse and leave. Exactly ten minutes later Michael pushed his coffee cup gently toward the middle of the table, stood up, and found himself looking at Nikita Wolfe.

"Michael!" Nikita stopped in her tracks, surprise written on her face. Her lips curved into a pleased smile.

"Nikita." Michael smiled back.

Nikita's gaze turned to his companions at the table and she nodded a hello before turning back to Michael. "Birkoff and I were just stopping by for lunch. You haven't met Birkoff, have you?" Turning to gently pull Birkoff forward, Nikita continued. "This is my brother. Birkoff this is Michael Samuelle. He's opening up a gallery here in a few months time."

They exchanged pleasantries and then Michael introduced his companions. "This is my friend Rene Dian and his friend Karen." Michael ignored the hurt look Karen flashed at him. Rene stood, took Nikita's hand in his and raised it to his lips. "Enchante, mademoiselle." 

Nikita gave a small smile before turning to Michael. "I'll let you get back to your lunch. Have a great afternoon."

"Thank you," Michael answered, and watched as she and Birkoff made their way over to a table. Michael changed his mind about leaving and sat back down. "Shall we order?" he asked.

Rene raised his brows, amused at his friend's change in attitude and wondered how much of it had to do with the lovely Nikita Wirth sitting with her brother two tables away from them.


	7. chapter 11

Chapter 11

"So who is he?" Birkoff asked, after he and Nikita settled into their seats.

"A new client. Owns several art galleries in Europe. He's opening his first one here in January." Nikita glanced over at Michael's table and saw that he had taken his seat again. Interesting. He'd introduced the woman beside him as Rene's friend but it seemed to Nikita that the woman, Karen, was much more interested in Michael Samuelle. A smile tugged at Nikita's lips as she returned her attention to her menu. She imagined a lot of women would probably be interested in Mr. Samuelle. If only she could get him to pose for one of the magazine spreads...

"And you're handling his account?" Birkoff asked, and Nikita nodded as she picked up her menu.

"Yes. Dad's going ahead with the plans to expand to Europe, preferably Paris, so we're taking steps to set up a base clientele there. We're starting with smaller accounts, such as Samuelle's."

"So he's going ahead with the expansion." Birkoff lowered his menu. He stared out the window, brows pulled together. "I knew he was talking about it but I wasn't sure he'd actually do it. What does Dr. Robinson have to say about this?"

"The usual; be careful, don't overdo it."

Birkoff plopped his menu down on the table. Nikita glanced up. Birkoff had a look of irritation mingled with frustration in his eyes. She reached over and placed her hand over Birkoff's and gave his fingers a gentle squeeze. "Hey," her voice was soft. "I'm worried too, Birky. But you know how Daddy is, asking him to take it easy is like telling him he's too old for the job. It'll kill him."

"And this expansion won't?" He withdrew his hand and Nikita sighed. Section and their father had always been a sensitive point with her brother. She suspected that, at some level, Birkoff felt Section had cheated him of his father. Growing up, there was always some problem at work or important meeting that demanded their father's attention and prevented him from being home with his family. The problem hadn't affected Nikita much because, as a child, she had always been more verbal than Birkoff. If she felt her father was neglecting her she marched right up and let him know it.

Birkoff, though, had always been more reserved. He never complained about the missed baseball games, birthdays or camping trips. Instead, he hid his disappointment behind a wall of silence and solitude; holed himself up for hours in his room with his computer. Duriing his freshman year in high school, Birkoff won national recognition for a science project he'd worked on for months. He was interviewed by the local news shows and honored at school during a special ceremony. Their father was supposed to be back from a business trip in time to attend the ceremony and to present Birkoff with his award. But, like so many times before, something came up at the last minute that required their father's immediate attention and he called, full of apologies, to let Birkoff know that he would make up for it later. It was shortly after that incident that Birkoff began saying he had no intention of working at Section.

"Hey." Nikita smiled and held her hand out toward him. Her fingers were closed in a loose fist except for her little finger which was extended out. "Pinkie swear."

Birkoff stared at her hand in silence, unmoved by the childhood gesture of truce. But as seconds passed and Nikita made funny faces at him, a small reluctant smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "No," he complained, and folded his arms stubbornly. They both knew she would win; she always did, but that didn't mean he would make it easy for her. "You're always sticking up for him," he said, semi-seriously as he met her gaze.

"And you're always pretending to hate him." Nikita leaned further forward, her voice lowering. "But I know the truth."

"Oh, shut up, Kita."

She started to laugh; her eyes sparkling and hand reaching for his. Kita' was what he used to call her as a toddler; running after her on unbalanced legs and arms flailing yelling, "Kita, come!" He stopped calling her that when he turned five and entered school. But, occasionally, when he wanted to show his affection for his older sister, he would revert back to his nickname for her.

"I really hate you," he said, but his lips were curved into a full smile as he hooked his pinkie finger to grasp hers. "You're just as bad as he is; working all the time. When are you going to start living for yourself?"

Nikita sighed again and stared at their clasped hands. "I am living for myself," she said, quietly, then released his finger and sat back. Her eyes lifted to meet his and she gave a little shrug. "I like my work."

Birkoff nodded and sighed. "I love my work too," he said.

"But -- ?"

Birkoff gave another half-smile that looked more sad then happy and looked out the window again. "But sometimes..." he said, slowly. "Sometimes it's not enough, you know?"

Nikita sat silently. Her eyes shifted and she caught sight of Michael Samuelle sitting with his friends. She stared at him with interest for several seconds. He was - what? - about thirty four years old? Single, successful, handsome. Did he ever feel that there was something missing from his life, she wondered? Or was he like her, happy with being single? Was it different for men than it was for women, she wondered? From what Birkoff just shared it didn't seem so. As she pondered upon that question, Nikita suddenly became aware that Michael Samuelle was staring back at her. Blushing at being caught staring she smiled and gave him a little wave before turning back to the lunch menu.


	8. chapter 12

Rene plunked himself down on the sofa in Michael's hotel room. "I ought to be very angry with you," he said. Michael, who was preparing his clothes for the evening, ignored him. "And don't tell me I'm imagining things. I know you were about to leave our lunch early and then that woman showed up at the restaurant and you changed your mind." Rene grinned and wagged a finger in Michael's direction. "You've been holding out on me. I saw the way you couldn't keep your eyes off her."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Michael answered. His voice and expression revealed nothing of his thoughts as he held two dress shirts up; one black, the other dark green. He considered them in silence, and then returned the black one to the closet. He laid the green shirt on the bed, picked up his shaving kit and disappeared into the bathroom.

Rene stood and stretched. "Fine. Be like that then." He stuck his head into the bathroom. "But I know what I saw." Michael gave a small secretive smile but remained silent. Rene began to laugh and shook his head. "I will see you tomorrow, my friend, and you can tell me all about it then."

Madeline's office was connected to her husband's by a private sitting room that could be accessed by both offices. The windows provided plenty of light and an excellent view of the harbor. There was a round dining table with two chairs situated near the windows. A sofa and armchair occupied the other side of the room. Paul was seated in the armchair staring out the window with a contemplative look on his face. He turned when the door to Madeline's office opened and she entered.

"Hello, darling."

Madeline smiled and sat on the armrest. She leaned down and kissed his brow. "Are you ready?"

"Yes."

"So am I." She stood and extended her hand to him, helping him up to his feet. He groaned as he stood and Madeline frowned. She raised her hand and placed it over his heart. "Are you feeling alright?"

Paul dismissed her question with a wave of his hand. "I'm fine. Just getting old." He placed his hands at the small of his back and grunted as he twisted at the waist, stretching his muscles. Madeline smiled and stepped closer. She wrapped her arms around him and kissed him upon the mouth.

"You're not old," she said, quietly. "You're just right." Paul laughed at that and kissed her back. They pulled apart slowly at the sound of a knock on the door. Nikita stuck her head in and cleared her throat.

"Isn't there a rule against this sort of thing in the workplace?" she asked, with amusement.

Paul muttered something about ungrateful brats, causing Madeline to smile. She brushed her hands down the lapels of his coat and turned to face her daughter. "Are you sure you can't join us for dinner? We'd love to have you."

"She doesn't want to have dinner with us," Paul grumbled. "She prefers to spend her time here, chained to her desk, rather than have dinner with her old man."

"Actually," Nikita said, hooking her arm through her father's. "I came to tell you that I've changed my mind. I've decided to grace you and mother with my presence tonight. How's that?" she asked, smiling smugly.

Paul returned her smile. "Really?"

"Yes, really," Nikita said. "I decided that you were right; the work will still be here tomorrow. Tonight, though, I'll have dinner with my family… and whoever else you have on that guest list for tonight. I hope its not too many people, is it?"

"No darling," Madeline replied. "Just a few close friends and then your father invited Michael Samuelle."

"I know. That's part of the reason I decided to attend. I want to make certain the contract goes through. I saw him earlier today but he was with friends and I didn't want to bring the contract up at that time."

"Hrmph. So it's Michael you want to see and not your old man," Paul stated, and Nikita laughed.

"It's just business, Dad. Besides you know that you're still my favorite guy."

Paul snorted and took hold of Madeline's hand, feeling like a very lucky man as he walked out with his daughter on one side and his wife on the other.

Section sent a limo to pick Michael up at 6:45 p.m. He arrived at the Wolfe's residence at precisely 7:30. He shifted the wine he brought into his right hand and shook his coat with his other hand. It was drizzling and he'd gotten a little wet. He heard the door open and looked up, expecting to see a housekeeper or other servant. What he didn't expect was to find himself face to face again with Nikita Wolfe. She flashed him a smile and held the door wide. "Michael! Great, you're here. Come in!"

Michael offered her the bottle of wine and she thanked him. She took his coat also and hung it on a coat rack near the door.

"I didn't know you'd be here," he said, smiling.

"Ahh --," Nikita grinned back at him. "But I knew you'd be here." She winked then laughed at the look of surprise on his face at her flirtatious mood. "Come on," she said, and led him to the living room. 

Michael followed, noting that there was something different about her he hadn't noticed before. She looked beautiful in a silver silk blouse with a long matching skirt. It shimmered with her every move. Her hair was pulled back in a loose knot.

"Make yourself comfortable," Nikita said, pointing to a settee. "I'll just let Dad know you're here." She disappeared through another door, leaving Michael alone. He looked around appreciatively at the tasteful and comfortable setting of the Wolfe home. And then his sight settled upon several photographs that lined the wall opposite him. Michael walked over and stood silently studying the photos. They were mostly of Nikita and her brother at different stages of life. Michael smiled at one picture of Nikita when she was probably no older than five or six. Her long blond hair was divided into two pigtails and her smile revealed two missing teeth.

"She hates that picture."

Michael turned to see Madeline standing a few feet behind him. She was smiling; her dark eyes warm as she looked past him at the photo. "But it's one of Paul's favorites so we keep it up there."

"I like it too," Michael said, turning to look again at the photo. "Reminds me of someone I know."

Madeline's gaze shifted. "Oh?"

"My little sister," Michael explained, turning again to meet her gaze. "They have that same look of mischief in their eyes."

Madeline laughed softly. "I think maybe all sisters appear that way. Just ask Birkoff, our son."

"I met him earlier," Michael said. He followed Madeline and took a seat opposite of her on one of the couches. "Nikita mentioned he's running his own computer business."

"Yes," Madeline paused, and Michael thought he detected a hint of sadness enter her eyes. But then she blinked and looked up again, smiling. "He's doing very well. We're all very proud of him." They talked for a few more minutes before Paul entered into the room with Nikita and two other couples. Paul introduced Michael to his other guests. One was a financier and the other was the president of a television network.

Nikita poured them all wine, filling her father's glass only halfway. The talk ranged from the political unrest in the Middle East to the senatorial race for New York to the plans for Michael's gallery. The atmosphere was relaxing and Michael found himself enjoying the evening and the company of the other guests. Nikita probed Michael about what his expectations were for the opening in New York as she made a mental note of his ideas.

During dinner, Michael learned that Paul Wolfe had suffered a mild heart attack several months earlier. Paul denied that it was anything to worry about but Michael could see by the look in Madeline and Nikita's eyes that they believed otherwise.

At ten o'clock the others began to take their leave and Michael thanked Paul and Madeline for a lovely evening and prepared to leave also. "Yes, it's getting late," Nikita said, standing up. She walked over to her mother and kissed her on the cheek, then turned and hugged her father tight. "I'll see both of you tomorrow."

"You're going back to the city?" Michael asked.

"I sure am," Nikita answered. "Want to catch a ride? You don't have anything against women drivers, do you?" Nikita asked.

"No. Not yet," Michael said, and Paul chuckled. He and Madeline walked the two to the door and waited till the taillights of Nikita's Porsche disappeared down the driveway, and then they closed the door and walked back to the living room.

"He's a nice young man," Paul said.

Madeline slipped her arm around his waist and leaned against him. "Yes, he is."

Paul draped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer. "Do you think he's married?"

"I don't think so. Why?"

"Just curious." He turned his head and looked at her. "Nikita seems to be very comfortable around him."

Madeline smiled and said quietly, "I think we should go to bed."


	9. chapter 13

Chapter 13

"So are you enjoying New York?" Nikita asked. She was staring straight ahead, concentrating on maneuvering the car through the winding road.

Michael nodded. "It's nice. I don't know that I would want to live here."

"Too American?"

Michael laughed quietly. "Too fast. I'm not much for the city life."

"Really? That's surprising."

"Why is that?" he asked, turning his head to look at her. Nikita shrugged.

"I guess I just thought that someone like you who owns so many galleries throughout Europe, that your life would be very much geared toward the fast lane."

"It was at one time," Michael admitted reflectively. "But I think I've grown older... I just don't seem to enjoy that life as much anymore."

"Grown beyond the need for it," Nikita amended. "I'm not much for the fast lane either but I love living in the city."

"What do you like about it?" Michael asked, genuinely curious.

Nikita thought a moment, her lips pressed together in concentration. "I love that it's so alive. You saw my parents home. That's where I grew up. It's a great little town, lots of old money and prominent families. It's a beautiful place to live but it was too quiet for me. When I moved to the city I felt as if I'd been transported to another world, so very different from the one that I'd grown up in, and I loved it instantly."

They talked more about their lives, sharing bits and pieces, and before they knew it they were back in the city and Nikita was dropping Michael off at his hotel.

"I had a lovely time," Michael said. The contract with Section was in his hand as he prepared to leave the car. "I'll look these over and have it back to you before I leave for France."

"That's great." Nikita reached out to shake Michael's hand, a smile upon her face. "I look forward to working with you."

As she drove away Nikita was glad she had decided to go to dinner with Michael and her parents.

Friday Nikita met with her team for their weekly briefing. A progress report was given for each of the on-going accounts; new deadlines were set, anomalies dealt with, assignments issued and, finally, profiles of the new accounts were handed out. The team members would have the weekend to mull over the new accounts; Monday they would meet again, put their ideas together and formulate an advertising strategy.

Nikita left the office after the team meeting; her scheduled appointments kept her away from the office until late in the afternoon. When she returned, she was tired and cold and her feet hurt. Gail was on the phone. Nikita stopped by her desk and mouthed silently, "Where's Rose?" The secretary pointed toward the door to Nikita's office. Nikita nodded her thanks, picked up her stack of phone messages, and made her way to her office.

"Rose?" Nikita stopped mid-step and looked in surprise at the large bouquet of spring flowers her assistant was making room for on a table in her office. "What is that?"

"Flowers," Rose said, and she held out the small envelope that had come with it. Nikita's name was written in bold script on the outside. "I don't recognize the handwriting," Rose added.

"Neither do I," Nikita said, clearly puzzled. It wasn't her birthday, not a holiday - who would be sending her flowers? There was one way to find out. She opened the envelope and read the card inside. It read simply, "Thank you. Michael."

Nikita smiled. He sent her flowers. That was nice of him. Walking over to where Rose had arranged them she leaned in and took a deep breath. "Beautiful."

"Satisfied client?" Rose asked, and Nikita smiled.

"Hopefully. They're from Mr. Samuelle."

"Thought so," Rose said. "Your mom received a beautiful bouquet also."

"Hmm. Quite a charming man," Nikita said, taking one final smell. "And, as my mother will say, 'so well bred'" Nikita added, with a clipped accent andslight tilt of her chin. Rose chuckled at her boss's imitation.

"Send him a thank-you note for me please, Rose. And remind me to do something nice for him when he comes back to town. Maybe take him out to dinner, a nice one this time."

"Yes ma'am." Rose gave a mock salute and duly noted it down on her little reminder notepad she kept with her. Nikita moved over to her desk and sat down. In the next minute the two women were busy discussing several campaigns and thoughts of Mr. Michael Samuelle faded to the back of Nikita's mind.


	10. Chapter 14

It was past 8 p.m. when Nikita decided she'd had enough of work and prepared to go home. Her best friend Carla had called earlier to ask if she wanted to join her and some friends for dinner and dancing, but Nikita declined. "It's been a long week. I think I'll just spend a quiet evening at home and turn in early."

"We never see you anymore," Carla complained. "I used to think it was that boyfriend of yours but now I know the truth, its work you're addicted to!"

"Well you don't have to worry about the boyfriend part," Nikita said with a frown. "Stephen and I have decided to call it quits."

This was met with a sharp intake of breath. "Oh my god, really! When?" Carla was shocked and couldn't believe Nikita had finally broken it off. Stephen was the longest relationship Nikita had ever been in.

"Don't sound so surprised. You knew it wasn't working out well."

"Yeah, but I didn't ever think you two would ever admit it."

"I know," Nikita sighed. She felt a twinge of guilt as she recalled Stephen's reaction. He'd been hurt by her decision. "But there you have it. Stephen and I are officially no longer an item. Hallelujah."

"Is Stephen as overjoyed as you are?"

Nikita grimaced. "I'm not overjoyed, Carla. Relieved maybe, but not overjoyed." She explained briefly how Stephen had reacted and how she felt bad that things hadn't worked out. "I should have ended it sooner and not kept him hanging on for so long. I hope he finds someone deserving of him and that they fall in love and live happily ever after."

"Just so long as it isn't you, right?" Carla teased.

"Carla, you're not making me feel any better. Despite what it may seem I don't enjoy hurting Stephen. And I truly do want him to find someone who he'll be happy with."

"Alright, alright. I apologize. But don't feel bad, Nik. You did the right thing. And you're right, maybe now he'll find someone that's right for him. And you'll find someone that's right for you."

Nikita smiled and shook her head. "No thank you. I'm going to enjoy the single life for a while longer if you don't mind."

Later as she gathered her things to leave her gaze wandered over to the flowers Michael Samuelle had sent. Leaning over she plucked a dying rose from the bouquet and inhaled. Beautiful. It was nice of him to send them, and she tried to recall if she had instructed Rose to send him a thank you note. Even if she hadn'tNikita was certainher ever efficient secretary would have done so already. He really was quite a good looking guy she mused. And she wondered suddenly if Michael Samuelle was as nice a person as she hoped him to be.

Nikita shook her head then andlaughed quietly at her thoughts.Here she was just finished breaking off with one relationship that had been a disaster, mainly because she hadn't been able to commit herself to it as much as Stephen had wanted her to, and she was already fantasizing about another man. And a client to boot!

"Get a grip, girl" she said aloud, and picked up her briefcase and purse before heading out the door.


	11. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Bailey was actually Monique's dog; Michael bought him seven years earlier when Monique was only sixteen. They had lost their parents in an auto accident a year earlier and Michael, who was living on his own by then, was given guardianship over Monique.

The age difference between Michael and Monique made communication between them difficult. She was quiet, depressed, and spent hours locked away in her room. Michael tried his best to help her get over the loss of their parents but nothing seemed to work. Then one day while Michael was on his way back from a business trip he came across a pet store in south Wales. Bailey was one of a litter of long coat Chihuahuas the storeowner had on display in the window. The pup's large black luminous eyes reminded Michael of the sadness he saw in his sister's eyes. On impulse, he entered the store and asked for the puppy with the big black eyes and black and white coat.

His efforts paid off. Monique took to the puppy immediately, naming him Bailey -after the town Michael had purchased him in- and the two became practically inseparable. Bailey followed Monique throughout the house, scurrying along on his tiny little feet, stopping to yap at Janelle, the housekeeper or her husband Elar.

Things became easier between Michael and Monique after that. In time Monique learned to open up to her older brother and Michael adapted to having to care for someone other than himself. There were times when they disagreed, and a few times when they had heated arguments - usually about things that were important to a teenage girl; like boys, and dating, and curfews - but on the whole the two developed a special bond. Michel felt enormous relief when Monique finished school and prepared to enter university.

At twenty Monique fell in love with Philippe Chavez, a young man she met at University. Philippe was three years older than Monique. He was a quiet and serious young man whom Michael discovered had a calming affect on his younger sister. Michael liked too that Philippe was not into the fashionable nightclub scene that so many of Monique's friends were involved in. Philippe was in culinary school and wanted to one day open his own restaurant. After a yearlong courtship Monique and Philippe married with Michael's blessing. If there was one fault Philippe had, and this was according to Monique, it was that he was allergic to Bailey. Whenever he was within three feet of the dog Philippe would begin sneezing non-stop. His eyes would water and he would start to hyperventilate. Michael secretly found the situation humorous, though he was careful not to say so to Monique. It was a heartbreaking decision for her but Monique decided reluctantly to leave Bailey with Michael. Michael was surprised; he'd half expected Monique to choose Bailey over Philippe.

"You'll be happier here with Uncle Michel, and Nelle and Elar," she said to Bailey. Bailey didn't understand what she was saying and for days after Monique had gone, he would go to her bedroom, curl up on her pillow, and wait for her to come home.

Michael took pity on the little dog. The emptiness he felt in his home after Monique was gone was reflected in Bailey's dark eyes. Michael began to make a special effort to be nicer to Bailey; giving him an extra pat now and then, a new soft blanket to curl up in. Michael even bought a new wicker basket and placed it at the foot of his bed for Bailey to sleep in. Now, nearly, two years after Monique had gotten married, it was Michael whom Bailey waited patiently for to return home.

He was waiting when Michael arrived back from New York. Michael bent and scratched Bailey behind his ears with affection. "Did you miss me, mon ami?" he asked, and Bailey gave a sharp bark and ran in circles. Michael quickly settled in and after a hot shower, dinner, and an hour of reading reports, he retired to bed.

Michael woke to the feel of something cold and wet rubbing against his cheek. "Bailey," he grumbled, and put the little dog firmly away as he sat up. Bailey barked a greeting at him then jumped off the bed and ran toward the door to wait.

Michael sighed and rubbed his eyes. It felt like he'd just gone to sleep and now it was already morning. Luckily it was Sunday and he didn't have anything scheduled other than to stop by and see Monique and her family. Bailey gave another "yap-yap-yap" to urge his master out of bed.

"Patience," Michael said, scolding lightly in French. As he climbed out of bed he suddenly remembered the conversation where he had mentioned Bailey to Nikita and she had thought he was gay! Scoffing at the thought Michael shook his head and made his way to the bathroom to shower.

Monique was thrilled to see Michael. Phillipe prepared a special lunch and the three of them and little Michel spent a leisurely afternoon together. Monique inquired about his trip to New York –she'd never been to the U.S.- and Michael obligingly answered all of her questions.

"You won't be moving to New York will you?" she asked, worried that he might have decided to do just that.

Michael laughed and shook his head. "This is home for me," he assured her. "I have no intention of moving anywhere."

Pleased with his answer Monique reminded Michael that little Michel's birthday was in two week's time. "Phillipe and I want to have a small party for him and invite a few people over. Will you be able to attend?"

"Of course, I wouldn't miss it," Michael replied, and Monique was secretly pleased. She had a friend that was interested in Michael and she had promised to introduce her to him. But she didn't mention this to Michael. He didn't like being set up on dates. But he hadn't been dating anyone for so long that Monique felt it was time she gave her older brother a little nudge in the right direction.


	12. Chapter 16

It was late on a Tuesday afternoon and Nikita was sitting at her desk and staring out the window when Rose knocked on the office door and entered. "I'm about to leave," she said. "Is there anything I can get you before I go?"

"No. I'm fine, thank you. Send my love to Ed." Ed was Rose's husband and the two were leaving to spend the Thanksgiving weekend with his family in Seattle before heading off to a week long stay in Hawaii. Ed was going there on business and Rose was accompanying him.

"If you need me, call me," Rose said, hesitating at the door. She didn't like the idea of leaving early for the holiday but Nikita insisted.

"Rose, go." Nikita walked over and gave her a hug. "We'll be fine, you'll see. Now go enjoy yourself. I've got Gail to help me if I need anything."

Rose finally relented and left. Nikita returned to her desk and began reviewing one of several photo layouts awaiting her approval when the intercom buzzed and Gail informed her that Michael Samuelle was on the phone.

"Michael!" Nikita smiled as she answered the call. "I tried to get a hold of you last week but I was told you were in Venice." The layout for his gallery's ad was one of those that she was working on.

"Yes, my office informed me," Michael answered. "I'm sorry I wasn't able to get back to you sooner but I'm here now in New York."

"You're in New York? Well you certainly are racking up those frequent flyer miles," Nikita teased.

"I'm sorry?"

"Never mind, it's not important," Nikita said, waving her hand in the air. "What is important is that you're here. Will you be in New York long? Do you have time to stop by and see the layout we've prepared?"

"Will tomorrow afternoon be alright?" he asked. "I've got meetings scheduled with the architect and contractors today. We've run into a little problem –that's the reason I'm here- but I have tomorrow afternoon available or Thursday morning if that works better for you."

Nikita grinned. "I forget that you folks don't celebrate Thanksgiving in France, do you?"

"I'm sorry… Thanksgiving?" Michael asked, frowning slightly. And then, remembering suddenly the American holiday, he raised a hand and pinched the bridge of his nose. He had completely forgotten. "I'm sorry," he began. "You're right, I did forgot that this is the week of your Thanksgiving. When is it again? Tomorrow?"

"It's Thursday," Nikita replied. "But I can arrange to meet you tomorrow afternoon if that will work for you?"

Michael hesitated. He didn't want to interrupt her holiday schedule, but Nikita assured him that she had planned on working the full day and that it wouldn't be any trouble to meet with him. Michael thanked her and agreed to meet with her at 3 p.m. the next day.

After hanging up Michael sat a few moments mulling over their conversation. A small smile tugged at his lips. It was nice hearing Nikita's voice again. Something about talking to her made him feel as if he were speaking with a friend rather than just a business acquaintance. That was a good trait to have in her line of work, and he wondered suddenly if all her clients felt the same way about her. They probably did he decided, and he felt a little disappointed by it. He rather liked the idea that the warmth in her voice had been for him and not just as another client. His thoughts were interrupted by the beeping of the Instant Messenger on his laptop, and Michael saw that it was Monique.

_'Michel, where are you? Your assistant said you flew to the U.S. Is that true?' _

Michael smiled and typed his response. "Yes. There was an emergency with the new studio. I'll be back in time for Michel's birthday. I promise."

_'Alright then. Be careful. I love you. Call me when you get back.' _

"I will," Michael typed. "Kiss Michel for me."

He smiled as he signed off, and he thought briefly of Monique's other reason for wanting to make certain he was back in time for his nephew's party. She'd mentioned more than once about her friend that she wanted him to meet. Michael had merely smiled each time and not replied. He adored Monique for worrying about him and wanting to see him settled down, but he was perfectly happy with his life as it was. And besides, he mused as he stood and picked up his coat, if he wanted to date someone he was more than capable of finding that someone all on his own.


	13. Chapter 17

Thank you to everyone for reading. I had a big project at work that I've been busy with but hopefully now I'll find some time to post more regularly.

Chapter 17

Carla plopped down into the empty seat across from Nikita and hauled her bag onto the table between them. "Oh god, what a day," she moaned, pushing her shades up to the top of her head. She looked at Nikita who was dressed in a slim silk dress and diamond earrings, and then glanced down at her own dusty jeans and cotton shirt and grimaced. "You'd think that by now I'd learn to dress up a little when coming out to lunch with you."

"You look fine," Nikita replied. Raising her hand, she signaled to the waiter they were ready to order. She'd known Carla since they were ten and attended the same private school. After graduating from high school, the two of them had traveled across Europe before Nikita returned to continue her training at Section. Carla, always a bit of a free spirit, took up sculpting and currently co-owned a little shop in the Village.

"I take it you were working?" Nikita asked, nodding to the traces of dry clay on Carla's arms, up by her elbow.

Her friend grinned. "Oh. Did I forget to wash there? Sorry."

"You are such a slob," Nikita answered, laughing.

"Yes, but you love me this way, don't you?" Carla accused playfully. "Being with me makes you look all dainty and girly-girly. You with your diamonds and fancy designer dresses."

"Dainty?" Nikita gave an undignified snort, and the two burst into a fit of giggles. She picked up her napkin, dipped the tip into her glass of water and then handed it over to Carla. "Here, clean yourself up before they kick us out of here."

"That would be fine by me. I don't know how you can stand eating in these places. Look at this! They've got two settings of everything. I've only got one mouth, why do I need two forks and two spoons?"

Nikita leaned back in her seat and smiled fondly at her friend. "Stop, will you? I asked you to lunch so that I could complain to you, not the other way around."

"Yeah, yeah. Isn't that always the case?" Carla answered. She finished wiping at her arm and then leaned forward, her attention focused completely on Nikita. "Okay, babe, I'm listening. You sounded pretty serious on the phone. What's going on?"

Nikita clasped her hands in her lap and turned to look out at the view of the harbor. "You're going to think this is stupid," she sighed.

"What is?"

Turning her gaze back to her friend, Nikita said, "Stephen stopped by the apartment Tuesday night."

"I thought you said youtwo were through."

"Tell that to him," Nikita replied, and she sat back and folded her arms. "You know Stephen. He doesn't like to lose. Anyway, he proposed."

"What!"

"My thoughts exactly," Nikita replied dryly. Her mouth turned down at the corners.

Carla could barely contain her excitement as she reached over and grabbed at Nikita's hand. "So did you say yes?" She turned Nikita's hands over and studied them. "Where's the ring? You did say yes, didn't you?"

Nikita pulled her hands back. "No, of course not! Why would I do that?"

"What!"

Nikita frowned. "You know how I feel about marriage. I'm just not ready. And you know how I feel about Stephen." She didn't love him and the last thing she wanted was to trap the two of them in a marriage that was bound to end in divorce.

"You're right. I do know you, and if Stephen is really set on marrying you he's going to have to drag you kicking and screaming down that aisle."

Nikita turned her gaze back outside and a somberness filled her blue eyes. Carla, seeing the frown in her friend's eyes, leaned forward and gently covered her hand. "What's really bothering you, Nik?"

Nikita remained silent for several long seconds. When she spoke, she said, "Do you believe in love, Carla?"

Carla's brows arched. "Well, sure. Doesn't everyone?"

"I used to," Nikita answered. "But I'm not so certain anymore." She paused to gather her thoughts and then said, "Remember when we were young and talked of what we'd do when we grew up?"

"And we talked about the men we were going to marry?" Carla smiled. "I remember."

"I always thought it would be so easy. I had my whole life planned out..."

"... in that little timeline you had written in your diary." Carla nodded. "How'd it go? Finish college, climb the corporate ladder, become the youngest female CEO, fall in love, get married, have two kids, a mansion and cocker spaniel?"

Nikita chuckled. "I was so naive, wasn't I?"

Carla smiled. "Well if you were naive then what does that make me since I believed in you and your dumb goals. I still do."

"I didn't go to college."

"You didn't need to," Carla said. "Look at what you've accomplished so far. So what if things aren't going exactly how you wanted. The main thing is that you've built a wonderful life for yourself. There's a million girls out there who would kill to switch places with you."

Nikita fell silent again for several long seconds. "Carla?" she said, after a while.

"Yeah, babe?"

Nikita took a deep breath, feeling more reassured now that she'd had a chance to speak with Carla. "I'm not marrying Stephen," she said decisively.

It was Carla's turn to be silent as she regarded her friend. Stephen, Carla thought, was a great catch. He was good looking, had a great job and was financially secure, and from the times she'd seen him and Nikita together, she'd seen that he treated Nikita well. But it was also obvious to Carla that for Nikita, these things were not enough. Sighing, she looked Nikita in the eye. "Were you reconsidering? Thinking that if you don't marry him love may never come your way again?"

Nikita nodded slowly. "The thought had crossed my mind."

"Well you put it out of your head. The right person will come along for you, just you wait and see. And when it happens I'm going to be right there to tell you I told you so."

Nikita laughed. She always felt better after speaking with Carla. "If I had a sister I'd want her to be just like you," Nikita said. "But more feminine and less fickle."

The two friends laughed and enjoyed their lunch. At 2 p.m. Nikita told Carla she had to leave to go back to the office. She had a meeting with Michael Samuelle and she didn't want to be late again.

"You'll be at the club tonight won't you?" Carla asked, as they stood at the curb and Nikita hailed a cab. It was the day before Thanksgiving and a group of their closest friends, including Birkoff and some of his friends, always got together for a pre-Thanksgiving party.

"Of course," Nikita grinned. She'd been working hard lately and needed some time to relax. Besides she was afraid that if she stayed at home Stephen might drop by again. "I'll meet you there about 9 p.m." And with that she waved goodbye.


	14. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Nikita opened the door to her office and smiled broadly as she extended her hand in welcome. "Michael, how wonderful to see you!" she said, as she ushered him into her office. She caught sight of Gail grinning at her and making a fanning motion with her hand, indicating how "hot" she thought Mr. Samuelle was. Nikita cocked an amused brow at her before closing the door to her office and turned to find Michael standing a few feet away waiting for her.

"Please have a seat," she invited, pointing to a comfortable settee. She had arranged the layout for the gallery on the coffee table in front of it. "Can I get you something to drink?" she offered, and Michael declined.

"Thank you for making time to see me," he said. He knew she must have had a hundred other things to do in preparation for the upcoming long weekend.

"Don't mention it," Nikita replied. "I'm really glad you called, even more so that you're actually here. It sounds like you've been doing a lot of traveling lately."

They talked a few minutes about his travels. Michael had just signed on a new artist in Venice, which was the reason he had traveled there the past week. The artist was one that Michael wanted to feature at the New York gallery opening.

As he spoke Nikita found herself again mesmerized by his voice and charm. He had beautiful eyes. God if he would only consent to be part of the magazine spread she knew for certain that the gallery opening would be a huge success!

Michael sat at the edge of the settee, his body turned toward Nikita as they talked. He recalled briefly their first meeting and smiled inwardly at how badly he had misjudged her. He was glad that they had had a chance to start over again. He enjoyed working with Nikita Wolfe. She was beautiful, intelligent, she had a good eye for detail, and it was obvious she loved her work. It was an added bonus that she also knew how to make her customers feel at ease.

The night at her parents home had given him a further glimpse to the fun caring personality Nikita possessed but he didn't fail noticing too that Nikita was very careful not to cross any lines of inappropriateness. He liked that. Sometimes in his line of work he came across patrons –many of them married- who had no qualms about letting him know that they found him desirable and wanted him in their bed. To deal with the unwelcome advances he developed a gift at being aloof which he used as a shield. He imagined Nikita must have come across the same situation in her line of work and was thus very careful with how she presented herself to customers.

Nikita turned Michael's attention to the layouts that had been prepared for his gallery opening. They would be used for two magazine spreads that would be featuring a story on the gallery. There were also proofs of what would be used in several ads that would be run in other publications. Nikita went over each layout and proof and sought his input and approval.

There was a knock on the door and a tall man with a shaved head walked into the room. He was dressed in a black turtleneck and slacks and carried a portfolio in his hands. "I've asked Chirs Davenport, our art director, to be here," Nikita explained, and she introduced the two men. "He's got some great ideas too that I would like him to share with you."

Nearly an hour later they began to wrap things up. Michael was pleased with the layouts and the plans that Chris had presented. Nikita's team had done an excellent job in designing the gallery's ad campaign. As they walked to the door talk turned to Michael's plan for the Thanksgiving holiday.

"I have a flight out on Friday," Michael explained. "My nephew's birthday is this Sunday and I have to be home for that. Tonight and tomorrow I plan to catch up on a lot of email and other work that's piled up over the past week."

Chris shook his head. "I don't envy you being away from home during the holidays. Especially Thanksgiving. Do you celebrate Thanksgiving in France," he asked.

"We have a similar holiday but it is held in October," Michael explained. "That was one of the reasons I was glad Nikita was able to see me today. I forgot about your holiday and that most places here will be closed. I have to wait until Friday morning to be able and meet with the contractors working on the gallery. Then that evening I will fly out."

"Why don't I take you out to dinner tonight?" Nikita offered. She felt sorry that he would be stuck in a hotel room all of tonight and tomorrow with no family around.

"Thank you, but I'll be fine," Michael answered. He didn't want to intrude anymore on her holiday time.

"No really," Nikita offered, smiling at him. "I owe you a dinner and this will also give me a chance to show you why I love this city so much."

"Are you thinking of Walter's?" Chris asked, and Nikita grinned.

"Walter's got great food and you'll love him," Nikita explained to Michael. "I can give you the address and we can meet there about 8 p.m.? If Chris wasn't leaving this evening I'd ask him to join us too."

Chris nodded his agreement. "I love Walter's. And they do have a great variety of food. You'll enjoy it."

Michael decided to accept Nikita's invitation to dinner. "Alright," he agreed. "But only if you let me pay since you treated me to dinner the last time and your parents were so kind as to invite me to their home."

Nikita thought a moment, recalling where she had taken him the last time. "Wasn't it the cafeteria I took you to?"

"Yes," Michael deadpanned. "I believe you called it the star treatment." Both Chris and Nikita laughed.

"You really do owe him dinner," Chris teased.

Nikita jotted down the address to Walter's and gave it to Michael. "Dress casual," she told him. "And bring a warm coat for afterward."

"What's afterward?" Michael inquired, but Nikita only smiled as she walked him and Chris toward the outer exit of her office. "You'll see," she said cryptically. "I'm sure you'll enjoy it."


End file.
